Outside The Wall
by Preciousheart93
Summary: A sequel to/summarization of the events of the album/movie Pink Floyd: The Wall. You can hold me entirely responsible for any continuity errors. So, what is outside the wall...?
1. Chapter 1

Outside The Wall

A Companion Story to Pink Floyd's "The Wall"

Story written by K**** B***

Original characters by Roger Waters

"_And if I'm in I'll tell you what's behind the wall…"_

The phone rang.

"Well?" he said eventually when it had shown no signs of stopping, looking her in the eye. She sat up.

"As I recall, you were the one who told me to leave it off the hook. What makes you think I'm answering it now?"

He smiled and shrugged, wrapping an arm loosely around her. But the phone continued to resound in her ears. Struggling out of his embrace, she reached out to the bedside table and plucked it out of the cradle. "Hello?"

As the person on the other end spoke, her expression changed from mild peace to confusion, and finally to horror. "WHAT?"

He was watching her anxiously. She couldn't bring her eyes to meet his. A moment later she said goodbye and hung up.

"What is it?" She shook her head and rolled out of bed, searching for her clothes.

"What's going on?" he persisted, reaching out to her. She shook him off.

"I'm sorry… this was a mistake. You don't need to be dragged into my life. I have to go."

Fully dressed, she rushed to the front room, preparing to leave. He followed her, wearing nothing.

"Will I see you again?"

She paused in her movements to gaze softly at him. Oh, how irresistible new love was. But it was false love, she knew. Her priorities lay elsewhere, though she'd tried so hard to forget them.

"I don't think so." She tried to answer as gently as she could. "I'm married."

His eyes flashed, but he didn't protest.

"Get your things and go. I'll be locking the house soon."

Outside the stadium, all was chaos. Very well-organized chaos. The fans were rioting, screaming for their rock star savior to get back on stage where he belonged. After he had made a brief appearance and run off again, the crowd was past the point of reason. They didn't want any fanatic wannabes, nor spineless opening acts. They wanted _Pink._

As the cops were called in to control them and the manager exploded with fury, one man walked unnoticed in the shadowy halls. He was the night stalker, the one solitary security guard who worked overtime at the stadium. He pushed his way into the restrooms, tapping on the stall doors to see if anyone was hiding there- and quickly became aware of a noise. The sound of heavy, labored breathing bounced off the spacious walls. The guard, whose hearing had become quite acute from all the nights spent alone in the stadium, detected exactly which stall it was coming from and pushed the door open.

A man lay sprawled out on the cool, damp floor, his arms locked around himself. He didn't appear to be conscious. The guard knelt down and fingered the man's pulse. It was weakening by the minute. Frightened, the guard abandoned his original task and called for help with his walkie-talkie. He didn't realize that the man he had just discovered was the only one who could fill the audience's needs. If he had realized it, perhaps he wouldn't have been so hasty to call.

The hospital looked gray and bleak as she climbed out of the taxi to stare at the building before her. A deep chill of foreboding entered her veins. She didn't want to do this today. She didn't want to do this again, ever. But it was her sense of duty that called her forth.

The blandness continued on the inside of the hospital. She waited in line for the receptionist, noticing that this waiting room could be as much for a lawyer as it was for a hospital. Not one person talked to another person. They all sat with grieving eyes and clenched hands and blank, staring gazes. They reminded her of the person she was here to see. She swallowed back her terror, fought her running-away instinct. The receptionist called her forth in an oddly cheery tone. Maybe she was as unsettled as her.

She wound through the corridors, following a nurse, and observed how the nurse didn't say anything either, other than a brisk "Follow me." She supposed the hospital staff were so uptight because they had to repress the emotion of reuniting families. It didn't make their jobs any easier. Once again, her thoughts turned onto the patient she was here to see. She wished she knew exactly what was wrong with him. She wished she didn't have to see for herself.

The nurse opened the door for her. That was nice. She stepped in hesitantly, cautiously, unsure of what she going to see. The room was dim. A silent, prone form was stretched out on the bed, breathing raspily.

She took a few more steps forward and peered down at him. The beating of his heart was reported on the beeping monitor at his bedside, indicating no abnormalities. It confused her. She leaned in and brushed his forehead gently with her fingertips. He didn't respond.

He had cut his hair! Where was that brown bush that she used to love to run her fingers through, before he had pulled away? And where were his eyebrows? What had he done to himself?

"So… what's wrong with him?" Her voice was distressed. She didn't like the way it sounded.

"We don't know," the nurse replied simply. "He was found in this state, and hasn't snapped out of it for as long as we've kept him here. Truly, there's nothing wrong with him- he's not even in a coma, as far as we can tell. It seems to be a sort of never-ending sleep."

A never-ending sleep. She didn't tell the nurse that she was familiar with that state. She stared down at the patient, and ignored the sudden prickly sting of tears as her eyes filled up.

Damn you, Pink. She should have never, ever let this happen.

Pain.

That was the first sensation he registered. Pain, both mental and physical and just as gut-wrenching both ways. The sleep should be dulling it. He should have been sinking into himself to get away from it. But there was nothing to hide behind. The pain ravaged his body, and he couldn't cry out for help.

_Help me I'm dying God it hurts_

Worse than the pain was the nothingness- the lack of comfort and shelter. He had nothing to hold on to, nothing to hope for. It was all gone. He called desperately in his mind, praying that someone would answer. And in time, someone did.

"_Godammit, Pink, please wake up… I want to go home…"_

That voice… He shied away from that voice immediately. The scorpion had spoken with a voice like that. He knew she wasn't going to help him.

_Is there anybody out there? _How tiring it was to even ask that.

At once he realized that maybe he didn't want to know the answer. There was someone out there, but she would only make the pain worse. However bad it was in here, it would all grow worse out there. He floated, searching for something to retreat into, and finally found his memories.


	2. Chapter 2

She should have listened to her mother. Above all, she should have listened to her mother.

Right off the bat her mother had seen Pink for what he really was. While he was left alone in the living room, her mother had taken her upstairs, where they'd spoken in private.

"What do you think, Mum?" she'd asked eagerly, eyes sparkling.

Her mother had gotten straight to the point. "He's not the right one for you."

All of her joy fizzled out. "What do you mean?"

"There's a look in his eyes that I don't like. He looks at you as if you mean nothing to him. Of course I might be overexaggerating, but I know that look and I've never trusted it."

She stood, staring at her feet. She hadn't been able to tell from her mother's actions that she disliked the man. In fact, she'd thought the two were getting along well.

"Never once has he suggested anything but love to me," she stated. "I'm afraid your interpretation is wrong this time."

Her mother touched her shoulder. "I just don't want you to make a mistake."

She was unable to heed that warning. She should have. By God, she should have…

They returned downstairs to where Pink was waiting. As soon as he saw her, he spread his arms, and she fell into them. As they kissed, she couldn't imagine that her mother had been right.

She never got to tell her she _was_ right, either.

It was on a Monday that the news was broken, when she had just gotten to work. Her female coworkers were chattering and giggling about the newest display of affection on her desk, a bouquet of variegated pinks. She smiled when she saw them. It was the last smile she wore for the day. The phone rang.

With the telephone's news, the day became dire. She fell into shock, and left work immediately. It was too late by the time she got there. Her mother had succumbed to the stroke. She held on to her cold, stiff hand for a while, and thought she would cry, but she didn't. Not then.

All through the rest of the week, she stayed at home alone while the condolences piled up in the form of letters, phone calls, and baked goods. She didn't think it odd when Pink didn't call. He was probably busy recording his album, too busy to check up on her and ask if she was okay. However, he did reappear after the funeral, and let her cry onto his shirt, staining the fabric with salt water. His silence was comforting, and she was grateful for it. Little did she know what was causing it.

A month later, he proposed to her, unveiling a heavy-duty ring bought with the profits of his new single. Her wounds were still a bit raw, but she put a temporary Band-Aid over them to help heal. With this new lease on life, how could they not? She was determined to make a 180 in emotional health. Her mother would have been proud.

"Audrey Dorian, do you take Floyd Pinkerton as your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do."

"And do you, Floyd Pinkerton, take Audrey Dorian as your lawfully wedded wife?"

"I do."

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Pink turned tenderly towards her and gave her a soft kiss.

It was a low-key wedding, the way they both liked it, and not many guests attended. She saw neither head nor tail of the bridegroom's family before the service. Upon leaving the church, however, Pink stopped in his tracks. An elderly woman was getting out of a car. When her eyes fell on Pink, she rushed towards him, forgetting to close the door. "Babe!"

She assumed that the woman must be her husband's mother. She didn't get to talk to her, as she bustled her son off to talk alone in private. Only a smile was thrown the bride's way. She stood, watching the mother-son reunion, longing to be noticed, to pull Pink's crossed arms around herself, and most of all, to have her own mother there to watch the proceedings. It wasn't long before their talk was done. She found it strange that Pink seemed to be in such a hurry to leave- to distance the area between him and his mother- but only for a moment. She chalked it up to excitement for the honeymoon.

And yet the honeymoon turned out miserably.

She should have been able to tell it wouldn't be great when she emerged from the bathroom in the best lingerie she owned and found Pink curled up on his side, already in bed, fully clothed. She had lain down next to him and tempted him to her, pulling him in. He seemed confused about her intentions. At first she had been playful. "Come on you, don't you want your wedding night?" Then she'd gotten serious. As they crawled between the sheets, undressing each other until two finally became one, Pink seemed to have no idea what was happening at all.

When it was over she tried begging for more, but her new husband rolled over on his side and fell asleep quickly. She held her head in her hands for a moment. In that moment she thought of her mother. It was as if she was looking down from Heaven at her, saying, _I told you he wasn't the right one for you. _She crept back down beneath the blanket and listened to Pink's light breathing. Her heart felt like a rock. So what if they weren't able to make it in bed? At least Pink still loved her. Or so she thought.

All he'd ever wanted to do was get away from his horrible, overbearing mother.

The memories drowned him deeply, not letting him surface for even a second's breath of air. At least it was better than the pain. He liked the feeling of being washed in memories. It was comforting in an odd way.

Pink's mother had always been there, always, from the very start. He'd thought she was all he needed in the world. Then he found the death scroll. He would never in the rest of his life forget that day, the day he realized there had been someone else at the beginning, someone who would not be returning now. He'd dressed in his father's clothes, looked in the mirror, and howled in his head. _Daddy, what d'ya leave behind for me?_

Nothing but proof that he had left, that was the answer. The clothes didn't fit him right. Pink stole the bullets and hid them in his room, hiding too the knowledge he had just unearthed. Yet he never truly forgot it, no matter how hard he tried to suppress the remembrance.

Now his mother became an enemy, someone that was not to be trusted. She lied to him anyway, when he asked her questions. No matter how weighty the topic, she always dismissed it with a wave of her hand and an insignificant, "Hush now, baby, baby, don't you cry." Pink tired of this very quickly. He didn't want to be seen as an infant. He wanted to know these things, now. But she wasn't giving him any knowledge of the outside world, instead shielding him by pretending no such thing existed.

That was why he became defiant, he supposed- though it wasn't as much defiance as it was little victories he achieved in his head, victories that his mother knew nothing of. Still, she guarded him very closely, and he had to keep lookout. When the girl next door was undressing in her bedroom window, Pink would have liked nothing more than to enjoy the sight. However, when his mother appeared, he feigned studying with sadness and disappointment. His mother wouldn't allow any dirty girls to get through, certainly not the type that undressed in plain sight of their neighbors.

_Why_, he would have loved to ask his mother, _don't you let me stay home from school then? If you want to protect me, why do you force me to go there?_ The injustices he suffered every day at school were far worse than anything else that his mother was supposedly shielding him from. What right did the teacher have to steal his poems, to physically injure him, to tell him that no matter what he did it was still _wrong,_ _do it again do it again do it again do it again…_

That was why he wrote poems, and if the teacher were a student like Pink was he would understand the need to cope. Pink lashed out against the school system in his little black book. _We don't need no education! We don't need no thought control!_

All in all, they were just new bricks in the wall… The ever-growing wall! It was all Pink had to depend on, the only thing that would keep his enemies out and his emotions in. The answer to every problem, every new layer of pain and derision? Shove it behind the wall.

He knew that someday, these people would pay. And it came far sooner than he expected. As soon as school was over and everyone else were figuring out what they wanted to do for the rest of their lives that wouldn't make them depressed, Pink took his black book and a guitar and headed down to a recording studio, where he showed off what he hoped were musical skills. And apparently, they were. The executive _loved _it.

It was only a few days later that he met her. _Her. _She worked at the registry office where Pink went to see if he could get his name changed on his birth certificate. He was sick of being Floyd Pinkerton, the title of his childhood. His childhood was dead now. It was time for an inversion, and Pink Floyd just had that ring to it.

As soon as he entered that office, he could tell she was the one for him. She seemed to exude that certain charisma that he hadn't seen for so long, the type that made him feel delicious and ashamed and overall _dirty. _The way she smoothed her fiery hair with her hand made strange tremors run across his skin. He inquired about her, all thoughts of changing his identity abandoned. Yes, she would do. She would more than do.

Once the dating scheme was over with, they were married. Pink stared at the world beyond his wall and wondered at the meaning behind this ceremony. Surely his mother had gone through with something similar to this… and later, she had produced him. Now that he was married to this woman, would she produce a child too? It was an odd thought. He hoped not.

As the newlyweds left the church, a sight stopped Pink dead. He saw his mother flying towards him, her arms outstretched. "Baaaaaabe!"

She whisked him away before he could say anything and kissed his cheek. "My baby boy, married already! I'm so happy for you!"

Pink only stared blandly at her. He felt like pointing out that she had missed the ceremony, but it was pointless. His mother chattered on and on, and he crossed his arms in front of himself for protection. A few bricks piled up on the wall to barricade him further.

"…But why don't you ever call me? I miss you, Floyd. Please promise me that you'll call as soon as you can…" She gave him a sideways glance. "You're not listening!"

Pink wasn't. He wasn't focusing on anything, in fact. His mother blinked helplessly. "What's wrong?"

He wished to tell her everything was fine. He wished to just leave her there on the sidewalk. So he did. He pushed away from her and walked back to his waiting wife.

That night, at the honeymoon suite that Pink had booked at the urging of his wife, the woman in question wandered out of the bathroom in the low light, her hair flowing like a river down her shoulders. Pink wasn't looking at her. He was trying to fall asleep. She came to him and lay down in bed, rubbing at his shoulders. "Hi," she said in a low voice. "What're you doing?"

Pink tried to ignore her, but she wouldn't keep her hands off him. "Come on, don't you want your wedding night?" Her smooth voice was doing odd things to his body, and he didn't like it. Suddenly she slipped her fingers under his nightshirt and lifted it above his head, running her fingers down his chest. Pink gasped. She crawled on top of him, a smile on her face. From then on, Pink would hate that smile.

He didn't know what was happening to him, or what she was doing either. That was where the memory ran blank. He only knew it had been horrible, loathsome, disgusting… and dirty. Finally Pink could see that his mother, unfortunately, was right. Dirty girls were not good for him. He couldn't wait to fall asleep again.

The couple only stayed on honeymoon for a few days. During those days, to Pink's horror, his wife tried again and again to repeat the actions of their first night together. He took to hiding from her, or simply shoving her away. Finally, she ignored him in return, and that was good. Pink was called back home with the good news- "Another Brick In The Wall" had reached number one on the charts. It was time to start planning a tour. Pink couldn't wait.

_All in all you're just another brick in the wall_

_All in all it's just another brick in the wall_


	3. Chapter 3

Throughout the years, both Audrey and Pink grew distant from each other. It was both of their faults, though neither one believed it to be theirs.

She found her husband disappointing very quickly. As it turned out, making it in bed was a crucial part of their relationship. If all was right in the bedroom, all was right in the world. But things were pathetic in the bedroom. If she wanted sex, Pink would ignore her. It grew to be too much.

One day she got home from work to find Pink in the bedroom watching television. That wasn't new; he always had his face glued to the telly. She tried for one final time to get him to notice her. Slowly, she removed each article of clothing, peeling them off one by one until finally her breasts stood bare on her chest. Pink hadn't taken his eyes from the screen through all of this. She climbed onto the bed and purposefully shoved her breasts right under his nose. He leaned to the side in order to better see the TV. Audrey's heart broke then, but she didn't show it. She kept persisting, trying to get Pink to at least take attention to her. He ended up almost on his side, vainly trying to follow the football game onscreen. She gave up then, and left him to his ball game. Only when she was out of the room did a single tear drip down her cheek, soaking into her skin. She shivered, though she wasn't cold, and compensated for Pink's lack of caring by rummaging in the fridge for something strong to drink.

He was always away on tours, and she read about his shows in the papers. Apparently he was a very good performer. Audrey had never seen him perform. The only reminders of his fame were the awards that were shipped to her house, every few months. She busied herself in keeping them clean while Pink was away. Never mind that he didn't even look at her when he came back, let alone the awards.

She had long known of the presence of drugs in the household, and caught whiffs of them from the bedroom when she was staying up, late at night. It seemed funny to stay up all night in separate rooms, letting the silence between them grow thicker and thicker. By all rights Audrey should have run to the bedroom and let her husband in with open arms. But he wouldn't have taken her in. Sometimes, in the rare nights when she had the bedroom, she could hear Pink out in the living room, pounding away at his piano.

"Hello," she said carefully, tiredly, but smilingly as she returned to the house. He sat at the piano, plonking out chords. Audrey leaned over the piano and waved a hand in front of his face. "Is there anybody in there?"

Slowly, his vacant, drugged out eyes turned onto her. He stared slack-jawed into her face, gazing as if she were a new form of life on a distant planet.

"Do you remember me?" she asked, invoking sweetness. "I'm the one from the registry office."

He blinked, and then dropped his gaze to fall back on the piano keys. Sighing, she hurried back out the door, unable to take any more of it. No more of this…

She probably wouldn't have left him if she knew what was going to happen next.

The record company was thrilled with Pink's overnight success. True to their word, 'Another Brick In The Wall' made millions, and Pink was whisked away from his old life and into a new, upper class society of sex, drugs, and rock and roll. Everything should have been perfect.

There was one problem with the wife, however…

She was always hounding him about sex- for sex was the word for what she had done to him that first night, as he had found out. A one-syllable word of darkness and stifled fear. He tried to ignore her, but she kept getting on his case about it, undressing before his very eyes. Why did she want it so badly? Pink turned to the television for solace- it was something to do when he wasn't on tour. He also had his first run in with drugs, and found that he liked them very much. They helped deaden the pain of being mistreated by the world, helped fill in some of the empty spaces of the wall where he and Audrey used to talk. Had they ever really talked at all?

Pink was on top of the world. He had it all. And yet, something was missing. One night, a night when he was off tour, he sat awake and stared at his sleeping wife. She still inspired something in him, that dirty feeling that he had no name for. He knew what the results of it were- he had found that out on their wedding night, and even then the feeling wasn't entirely quenched. Should he try again, indulge her in this little thing called sex? They had had some wine before bed, which was probably why she was sleeping with him at all. Pink extended a hand towards his wife, meaning only to touch her on the shoulder, but she rolled away from him in her sleep, as if he had hit her instead. Feeling low, shameful, and lonely, Pink sat up in bed and hung his legs over the edge, rubbing the back of his neck and his hair. He wanted something so very badly- he just wasn't sure what it was he wanted.

One glass still sat next to the bed, a glass filled halfway up with wine. Pink remembered leaving it there before trying again to do what the wife wanted him to do. He reached out with his foot, not sure what he was intending to do. His toes tipped the glass over. Red wine spilled out, saturating into the rug like a bloodstain. Pink hurriedly climbed back in bed. He knew he should clean up the mess, but he was too tired and too weak, too afraid. He fell asleep in the wall's embrace, and dreamed of ways to fill up the holes where bricks had not gone.

_Shall we set out across this sea of faces in search of more and more applause?_

_Shall we buy a new guitar? Shall we drive a more powerful car? Shall we work straight through the night? Shall we get into fights, leave the lights on, drop bombs, do tours of the East, contract diseases, bury bones, break up homes, send flowers by phone, take to drink, go to shrinks, give up meat, rarely sleep, keep people as pets, train dogs, race rats, fill the attic with cash, bury treasure, store up leisure, but never relax at all, with our backs to the wall our backs to the wall our backs TO THE WALL AGAINST THE WALL_

Pink woke up screaming. His bed felt cold- the wife had already left for work, leaving not even an indent of where she had lain the night before.

He didn't see her again after that. He had to fly to America to perform on another leg of the tour. He hated America, but he wouldn't tell anyone that, last of all his manager. They would just force him to perform even more than he already was booked to. The thought never crossed his mind to tell his wife that he was leaving. He didn't know where she was anyway.

The trip to America didn't last long. Pink filled up the time by sleeping and smoking his drugs. He barely got to see the outside world before being herded into a limousine by his attendants. The windows were too darkly tinted to observe the city carefully.

Night after night Pink immersed himself in the secret world of sex. He knew of one way to fill up the empty spaces- groupies. No matter where he went, there were always groupies on hand, waiting to see if he would want their services. Sometimes he took them back to his room and let them indulge themselves, but most of the time he watched the antics out of his window and imagined what would happen if he decided to make an appearance. The rejected groupies always glared daggers at the one who was chosen, the lucky woman who got to undress Pink and learn the movement of his body. He had a feeling that the ones he chose were shunned by their fellow women afterwards. As for himself, Pink tried again and again to understand the allure of sex, but he always ended up feeling… strange in the morning. As if he'd gone too far this time. However, he couldn't learn from that emotion, and continued to call the women to him. "I am just a new boy!" he would yell to them, and they'd come flocking over. "A stranger in this town! Where are all the good times? Who's gonna show this stranger around?" The groupies would push themselves into his face, and Pink would make his selection, hissing in her ear, "I need a dirty woman."

But it wasn't these random groupies he wanted, not the faces that he forgot in the morning. Often Pink would think of his wife, the one he had left at home. He tried to call her one afternoon, as the light slowly drained out of the sky, transforming into evening. He stared at the Polaroid he kept beside his bed wherever he went. It had been taken in happier days, when he and Audrey were still dating, and the smile on his face was at least semi-real. Now he wasn't even sure if he could call that emotion back. Pink had fallen slightly ill here in America- he supposed the climate was giving him a cold, or allergies - and coughed as he waited for someone to pick up on the other end of the phone. No one did. If Audrey was there, she was letting it ring off the hook. Pink gave up and disconnected the phone line, bringing the wires up to his face as he rubbed at his temples, trying to help his headache dissipate. He always felt rather scared when he was sick, as if death could come any minute. He rolled over and hugged a pillow to his chest for comfort, thinking about his wife and his mother and all the women he slept with at night.

He only tried to reach her one other time. Just one other time. Afterwards he was in no state to even think about her again.

She ran out of the house, unsure of where she was going, just knowing that she had to get away from the deathly quiet of her home, away from the silent Pink. She stopped running when she came to the end of the street, and noticed a parade marching quietly down the other side. They were waving signs protesting the war. She had forgotten there was a war going on. How trivial her husband's lack of interest in her seemed when placed next to a life-threatening crisis.

She didn't have anything else to do but join them. They welcomed her into the group warmly and handed her a sign. Under the deep gray sky where rain should have fallen, the rallyers shouted and she bent her head to hide her tears. If they had noticed them, would they have thought she was moved by the protest, or would they have seen through her? She wasn't sure if there was anything to see through. She didn't know why she was crying herself.

The leader of the group certainly had a charisma about him. He roused the group with a smile on his face. After the march was over, he thanked everyone who had joined and announced that he was giving a lecture against the war the next afternoon. She felt him glance at her, briefly, as he said he would love everyone to make it. She went on home, feeling a little more whole than she had when she had left. The feeling didn't stop even when she found that Pink had left the house. Even when he didn't return for the night. She had known that he had a tour to go back to. Two continents could not separate them fast enough.

She ended up going to the lecture the next day. As he talked, she could feel herself leaning in. He was a handsome man with a lovely voice, better than Pink's, even. And Pink sure had a handsome singing voice… For a moment she put her hand to her face, right in the middle of the audience. The man seemed to catch the motion, and gave her a one-second reassuring smile. He held her spellbound.

After the lecture, when everyone else filtered out of the room, she stayed behind. She watched him pack up his things. Then he turned around, spotted her, and cracked that charming grin again. "You're still here?"

"I guess I am," she murmured, smiling back. "I'm Audrey Pinkerton."

He took her hand in a gentle but firm grip. "Stanley Richards, at your service."

They talked in that room for what felt like hours. She didn't give a thought to the words that were pouring from her mouth. All she knew was that finally, finally, someone was listening to her. Finally. Stanley hung on her every word with intent rapture. She found herself laughing when he spoke, something she hadn't done in quite a while.

She managed to invite him to a local pub for a few drinks. As they walked down the street together, his arm in hers, she realized that neither had said a word about their families, their personal lives. And to Audrey's surprise, that was all right with her. She didn't want to know where this man had come from, and she didn't want to know why. He was her savior, having rescued her from her old life and given her a new purpose.

Together they knocked back drink after drink and grew closer and closer. Finally, as the pub announced its shutting down for the night, she leaned in to her newfound partner and asked if he wanted to come home with her. His eyes sparkled with lust as he nodded. She left the pub with her man, feeling excited in so many ways that she had never felt before.

It was dark by the time they got home. At last she surrendered to his touch. They could barely keep their hands off each other as he angled her to the bed, falling down among covers. Fireworks went off below her skin. She had never tasted such freedom.

When their first performance was over, Stanley took her in his arms and snuggled close. And the phone rang. She broke away from their kiss to stare frightened at it. Her man handled it, reaching over to lift up the receiver. "Hello?" It was only a matter of seconds before he hung up again. She didn't want to know.

The phone rang again. Again, Stanley answered it. And again, he dropped the receiver with a clunk. "Someone's crank calling you. Just let it ring." They melted into each other once more.

Yet Aubrey's last thought before falling asleep was, _I'm sorry, Pink._


	4. Chapter 4

"This is a collect call from Mr. Floyd to Mrs. Floyd. Will you accept charges from the United States?"

Pink listened anxiously for an answer. Then his entire body jerked as a new voice answered- "Hello?" It was not the lilting voice of his red-haired wife. It was the deep tones of a man!

Pink was about to say something, but the man hung up the phone with a clunk. The operator sounded surprised. "Oh, he hung up! That's your residence, right? I wonder why he hung up? Is there supposed to be someone there besides your wife to answer?"

Pink shook his head, forgetting that she couldn't see him, and begged her to connect again. Once again, the man answered; once again, he hung up. The operator unhelpfully pointed out the obvious- "See, he keeps hanging up, and it's a man answering…"

Pink thanked her for her help and hung up, sliding down the wall to the floor in a daze. A chill froze his bones. His wife was sleeping around. _HOW COULD SHE DO THIS TO ME?_

He was still thinking about it by the time his concert that night was over, and he was watching the world from under glass in his personal trailer. The party outside was inviting and just barely underway, but all Pink wanted to do was go back to his hotel room and sleep. The trailer was cold and shadows were falling, scaring him. Pink leaned his head against the window, his soul still smarting from the injury his wife had done to it. He tried to hide the pain behind the wall.

Outside, the party was getting into full swing. Champagne was passed around, and groupies crawled everywhere, taunting the men with their bodies. One in particular caught Pink's eye. The way she turned her head and laughed felt very intriguing, and very familiar. A cold admiration for this girl grew in his gut. Maybe she would bring him the comfort he was desperately needing and missing.

However, when Pink opened the trailer door and the girl rushed over brandishing an album, he was sorely disappointed. She was just the same as all the other mindless fans who wanted his attention. He sighed and signed away. She peered deeply into his shaded eyes, seeming to search for something in them, and even tried to take the shades off, much to Pink's disgust. "Um, Mr. Floyd? Will you- take me back to your room?" It was taking a lot of courage for her to say it, he could tell. Perhaps she hadn't been a groupie for long, or she had been put up to this. Either way, Pink didn't see why not. He agreed to take her with him. _That will teach you God HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME?_

He regretted the decision as soon as they'd gotten back to the hotel. The groupie let out a squeal. "Oh my God, what a fabulous room!" She ran straight to the guitar rack as Pink settled down in his chair in front of the television and flicked it on. He could hear the girl behind him oooh-ing and ah-ing over the instruments. "Are these all _your _guitars?"

Pink gave no answer. By some chance, the TV had been turned on to a movie about World War II, the war that he had lost so much in… He furiously shoved the memories back, and his thoughts turned onto his wife as the groupie called, "Can I get a drink of water?"

The flickering screen captivated all of Pink's attention. He barely heard when the girl filled up her cup with water, and asked, "Do you want some? Huh?" God, her voice was annoying. Americans didn't know how to speak properly.

Her footsteps padded down to the adjacent rooms. A door creaked open, and she gasped again. "Look at this tub!" Her voice turned indulgent, dirty. "Wanna take a _baaaaaaaaath?"_

Pink didn't want to take a bath, especially not with her. Her annoying voice traveled to the space behind his left shoulder. "What are you watching?" Pink didn't answer. "You sure like the tube, huh?"

_I miss you I miss you I hate you leave me alone how could you DO this to me to me to me… _Pink rubbed his temples frustratingly. His headache had returned. His obvious lack of interest didn't deter the groupie however, who came around to the front of the couch. She peered into Pink's now uncovered eyes. "Hey, are you feeling okay?"

Pink stared at the TV.

_Day after day, love turns grey_

_Like the skin on a dying man_

The groupie took his hand, which he let her have without resisting. He didn't feel it as she started sucking on his fingers, trying to get him to notice her.

_And night after night, we pretend it's all right_

_But I have grown older, and you have grown colder_

_And nothing is very much fun anymore_

He shivered a bit, his mind a million miles away. The girl, done with his fingers, dropped his hand and got up again, moving back towards the guitar rack reluctantly with both eyes on him.

Deep inside, Pink felt something both familiar and foreign building up.

_And I can feel_

_One of my turns coming on_

_I feel…_

He felt cold as a razor blade, tight as tourniquet, dry as a funeral drum.

One tiny tear dropped from his eyelash and rolled down his cheek, to trace his mouth with saltwater.

_She betrayed me she left me he left me_

There was no time to warn the other person in the room. There was no time to remember there was another person in the room.

_SNAP._

In a flurry of motion, Pink leapt to his feet and knocked over the television. "Run to the bedroom!" he howled to the girl, in a vain attempt to protect her and still to answer her obnoxious questions. "In the suitcase on the left you'll find my favorite axe!"

His hands were not his own. Blinded by rage, they overturned all manner of furniture, smashed all glass surfaces, and broke all the guitars, ripping into each object as if they were flesh. Through the thick and heady wave of anger, Pink tried desperately to communicate with the groupie. "Don't look so frightened! This is just a passing phase; one of my bad days!"

The girl, however, had every reason to be frightened. She screamed when Pink hurled a wine bottle at her, his actions contrasting his previous words. He was out of control. At least the girl was sensible enough to run, but her sense didn't kick in until it was too late. Pink charged after her, littering the floor with remnants of the room. "Would you like to watch TV?" he snarled viciously, mocking her accent. "Or get between the sheets? Or contemplate the silent freeway? Would you like something to eat?"

He had his hands on her now, shaking her violently. Dear Lord, would she ever stop that shrieking? It was making his headache worse on top of everything else. He could feel her trembling with fear. Good. Pink jerked the groupie out to the balcony and shoved her threateningly against the railing. Whimpers tore from her mouth.

"Would you like to learn to fly?" he hissed, locking the girl in an iron grip and leaning in. She shook her head frantically, trying to save herself from impending death. Pink pressed his forehead against hers. "Would you like to see me try?" He could hurl them both over the edge if that was what she liked. The groupie shook her head again, tears leaking down her face. Bored of issuing death threats, Pink released his catch. The girl fled, running for her life. And Pink followed the sound of the slamming door.

"Would you like to call the cops?" he cried, strewing about whatever objects he hadn't already broken and yanking down the blinds from the windows. No one was around to answer. "Do you think it's time I… _stopped?" _The last word came out as a grunt as Pink lifted the TV into his arms. He lugged it briskly to the balcony and heaved it over the rail, screaming to the buzzing world below. "NEXT TIME, FUCKERS!" The shout echoed over rooftops, pinging back into his ears. Panting heavily, Pink slowly descended from his rage-induced high to find that he was alone. All alone.

A voiceless wail filled his head.

_Why are you running away?_

A sharp, small pain was biting into Pink's hand. Pink glanced down and recoiled in horror at the sight of his blood spreading over his skin, tingeing it red. He must have cut it when he tore down the blinds… The balcony seemed to roll beneath his feet. He was too high up… Swaying, Pink backed away into his room, feeling dizzy and lightheaded and hurting.

He fell to his knees among the wreckage of the hotel room.

_Oooh, babe…_

His eyes swept over the damage, surveying what he had done. The room was trashed. There was no place to even sit comfortably.

Shivering, Pink hugged himself, doubling up. The explosive anger had dissipated, leaving behind only a strange, cold feeling that consumed every cell of his body. He felt as if he was a candle whose flame had been extinguished. He felt very small.

His thoughts turned back to the phone call.

_Don't leave me now… _

His mind filled with images of his wife and her new, faceless lover.

_Don't say it's the end of the road…_

Wind whistled through the open doors of the balcony, pushing through the empty spaces of the wall.

_Remember the flowers I sent?_

Why hadn't it been enough? What else could she have wanted? What was this man giving her that Pink himself couldn't provide? He was _Pink Floyd, _of all people. Why would she have left him?

_She hurt me she betrayed me I hate her I hate her I'll get you for doing this_

_But, _his weaker self sang, _I need you, babe…_

He shook his head hard in an attempt to knock that thought from his mind. What did he need _her _for? He only needed her to put through the shredder in front of his friends. Pink's hands lashed out, clawing madly at the invisible visions of his wife. _I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll make you regret it_

In his mind, he was in the swimming pool at the hotel, floating on his back as blood poured from his injured hand. He was innocent. He didn't deserve this treatment. His wife would pay…

_Oooh, babe… don't leave me now._

He erupted into a sudden, violent frenzy of dry, racking sobs without tears. He cried more out of a feeling of obligation than a feeling of sadness. _How could you go? When you know how I need you…_

With that, the sobs ended as abruptly as they'd come as Pink tried to stifle his true feelings. _I need you to beat to a pulp on a Saturday night! _Once again the lashing out, the clawing through air.

The hotel room seemed very sparse and empty, with nothing but to TV and chair for company. Though he was sure he'd gotten rid of them… Suddenly a horrific monster appeared before Pink's eyes, a terrible insect that peered in at him. Now trembling with fear, Pink backed all the way up against the wall. It didn't help. The monster came closer, seemingly angry with Pink for his withdrawal and wrongdoings against her. It must be a her, Pink reasoned. Only women were capable of this evil.

_How can you treat me this way…?_

He watched as she transformed into a new being- this one bearing the shape of the dirty part of a woman that Pink had always tried to shun. He hid his face in his arms and rocked back and forth, but the monster remained. He could feel her. And yet his foolish mind continued to cry for her, though everything else screamed against it. _Running away…_

_Oooh, babe…_

_WHY ARE YOU RUNNING AWAY_

_?_

Pink reached out in his mind, leapt to his feet, and brought a guitar down hard on the phantom TV, several times. He had had it. He had had it. He was done with this cruel world.

_I don't need no arms around me! _The bricks of his wall were flying into place, one by one. Thank God, thank God, at last some relief.

_And I don't need no drugs to calm me! _Whipped into a frenzy, all Pink could do was laugh and laugh as he watched each empty space fill in.

_I have seen the writing on the wall-_

_Don't think I need anything at all!_

_NO!_

_Don't think I'll need anything at all!_

_ALL IN ALL IT WAS ALL JUST BRICKS IN THE WALL_

_ALL IN ALL YOU WERE ALL JUST_

_BRICKS_

_IN _

_THE_

_WALL_

He didn't remember much after that.

The rest of Pink's memories were full of loneliness, war, Vera Lynn, walls, rats, illnesses, mothers, mental hospitals, soldiers, bring the boys back home, a little pinprick, pain, _aaaaaaaahhhhhh!, _numbness, dragging him out, peeling flesh, shouting, hatred, fires, wreckage, uniforms, kissing babies, rallies, marching, rape, running like hell, deadwood, hammer, worms, hammer, worms, hammer, hammer, hammer _STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPP!_

The one moment of clarity left had been huddling in the bathroom stall, braving the chill and the grime for hiding from what he had done, hiding from the blame, the destruction… He'd realized his sanity was slipping away- or maybe he'd never had it all. Trying to regain composure, he fumbled through the pages of his little black book. He couldn't go anywhere without it.

"I want to go home," he whispered.

"Take off this uniform and leave the show

"But I'm waiting in this cell because I have to know-

"Have I been guilty all this time?"

He should have never asked. He should have kept his words to himself. But sharing them had always been his profession, after all.

Without another word Pink was swiftly put on trial. He couldn't move by himself, which scared the hell out of him. To not be in control- was that what it felt like when one was guilty? He watched helplessly as the schoolmaster barked at him, moaning over how he had not been able to hammer him into shape. _"_The bleeding hearts and artists let him get away with murder!" Then the scorpion had crawled up and stuck her tail into him.

"You little _shit, _you're in it now," she'd hissed in a decidedly feminine voice. "I hope they throw away the key. You should have talked to me more often than you did, but no! You had to go your _own _way! Have you broken up any homes lately?"

Pink, unable to talk, was at the mercy of his wife as she stabbed at him with her words. She slipped over to the judge. "Just five minutes, Worm your honor- him and me, alone."

They never got those five minutes. A loud cry rang through the courtroom as a bird, no, a plane, no, a- whatever she was, flew over the jurors' heads, aiming straight for Pink. "Baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaabe!"

His mother! Great God, Pink had never wanted to see her again. But it was too late. She lifted him up and rocked him in great, stifling, wall-like arms. "M'lord, I never wanted him to get into any trouble! Why'd he ever have to leave me? Worm your honor, let me take him home!"

Where was home? For years and years Pink had been lost on his own. For a moment he wanted to be taken with his mother. But he couldn't. He hated her to the very bottom of his soul.

_Crazy! _He cried in his mind. _Over the rainbow, I am crazy! Bars in the window! _

There must have been a door in the wall where he had gotten in… He searched for it wildly with his eyes, but there was no door. A choir sang his words back to him. _Crazy, over the rainbow he is crazy! _He trembled, feeling like a leaf blowing in the wind.

Then he realized he was all alone, immured behind the wall, and the judge was peering down at him, a voice booming out of a giant ass. "The evidence before the court is incontrovertible! There's no need for the jury to retire! In all my years of judging I have never heard before of someone more deserving of the full penalty of law!"

Pink cowered, trying to hide behind the protection of his wall, but the judge peered down upon him anyway. "The way you made them suffer, your exquisite wife and mother, fills me with the urge to DEFECATE!"

"Go ahead Judge, _shit on him!" _cried the schoolmaster. Pink wasn't thrilled about that prospect. But the judge thankfully didn't take heed of that idea.

"Since, my friend, you have revealed your deepest fear, I sentence you to be exposed before your peers! TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE WALL! TEAR DOWN THE WALL!" And suddenly everyone was chanting it.

_TEAR DOWN THE WALL!_

_TEAR DOWN THE WALL!_

_TEAR DOWN THE WALL!_

_TEAR DOWN THE **FUCKING **WALL!_

AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Right before his eyes, bricks began to fall. His pride and joy was coming down. Pink screamed louder than he ever had in his life.

And suddenly he was gone, here in the nothingness, in the pain. And here it seemed he was bound to stay.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ma'am?" She looked up. It was the nurse, her eyes glowing apologetically.

"Yes?"

"Our visiting hours are from six to ten. I'm sorry, ma'am. You'll have to go home."

She stared at the nurse, and then back at her husband. She didn't want to leave him.

"Please- just five more minutes." What was the attraction to her? He wasn't awake to talk to her anyway. "Him and me, alone."

"I'm sorry, we can't let you do that, Mrs. Pinkerton." The nurse seemed to hate it even more than Audrey did.

She stood up and cast one last, lingering glance of love at him. Just as the nurse started to lead her out, she ran back into the room. "Pink-" He was still asleep, of course, just as he had been for her entire visit. "Pink, I- I love you." She choked on her words. "Please forgive me, Pink. I love you. I don't love Stanley. You have to believe me… Pink, you have no idea how much I love you."

The nurse rubbed her back soothingly as she broke down completely, sobbing. She'd thought she didn't care for him anymore, but all that time she had just been fooling herself. She loved Pink, even after all those years. She didn't care if he would ignore her later, as long as he would just wake up.

And a cough sounded from the bed.

Still so painfully alone, Pink traveled through a new sea of visions. He didn't recognize anything he saw. These weren't memories. These were just phantasmagorical images, the type that he would see often when he was on drugs. Was he on drugs now? Oh God, please don't let it be true.

His feet carried him down the steps of a familiar looking mental hospital. By the time he recognized it, it was too late. Pink stared at the man sitting on the floor, his back to him. The sound of mad laughter filled the air. Pink didn't want to move any further, but his body disobeyed, stretching out a hand. As soon as he touched the man's shoulder, the man turned around, laughing hysterically. Pink cried out in horror, for the man was himself. He was clinging tightly to his little black book with poems in it, and smiling like the crazed ones. Pink took a step back, eager to leave him behind. He didn't want to see himself like this. As he turned to run back up the steps, the scene changed yet again.

Now he was lying in bed with his wife, trying his hand at sex once more. This time, the practice with the groupies paid off. She sighed in deep pleasure, and Pink sighed too. They kissed, over and over again, until they had to stop from the sound of a baby crying carrying down the hall. Pink's wife wrapped her hands around his neck and told him not to miss her. Pink watched as she left him for the child, but this time her desertion wasn't something to rage at. He waited happily for her, biding his time with memories.

Pink blinked. He had watched himself do all these things, as if he was another entity. Where was he? What was going on?

He turned away from the lively form in bed and found himself in yet another situation. But this time, it was far more disturbing than the mental hospital.

The sounds of war were all around- screaming, machine guns, the squeal of missiles flying through the air and exploding. A man was running away from Pink, towards a phone hanging on the wall. Pink followed after him.

The man pulled the phone from its cradle and jammed it to his ear. At that moment, Pink saw that a plane was heading straight towards the two of them, about to unleash its bomb. He tried to warn the man, but his hands slipped right through the man's body.

Slowly- for everything was moving in slow motion, all at once- the man turned his face towards Pink. For a moment, neither one could speak. Pink saw himself in the man- but it wasn't himself as in the mental hospital. This man only bore a faint resemblance to Pink, but the resemblances were there anyway- his nose, his hair, were two more prominent similarities. The man reached out towards Pink, seeming to see _himself _in him.

_Good God, a ghost from my past? _He stared intently into the young man's eyes. He was the spitting image of himself during his teenage years.

Pink reached out, dying for contact, but he couldn't touch the man. They looked at each other with the same sort of finality in their eyes.

Suddenly the man's eyes widened- he had finally recognized Pink. _My son…! _He stumbled forward, and Pink backed away. When the man cocked his head questioningly, Pink indicated the plane. The two men watched as it moved in closer and closer, about to fire at them both.

Neither one said anything for the longest moment, and then the man took Pink's hand. Pink couldn't move away. The man fixed him with a stare of sadness and defeat, but love still reigned dominant. _I love you, my son. Please forgive me._ With one last action, he saluted.

Then time regained its normal speed and the missile blew into them both.

As Pink fell, sure that this was the end, he bid farewell to all the former bricks in his wall.

_Goodbye Father. I love you, I forgive you._

_Goodbye Mother. I love you, I forgive you._

_Goodbye Schoolmaster. I'm sorry, I forgive you._

He burst forth back into the world, and the pain exploded.

The nurse and Audrey had both rushed over upon hearing the first sign of life from the patient. The nurse checked Pink's vitals while she fell upon him, taking his hand. "Pink! Can you hear me? Can you feel me?"

He sat up in bed suddenly, and grabbed Audrey. She wrapped her arms around him as he burst into loud sobs. Tears dripped onto her shoulder, soaking through her shirt.

"Pink… Pink…"

He tried to hold them back, but with no wall to hold them behind, the tears continue to rush forth. Sobbing uncontrollably into her shoulder, Pink tried to get his message through. "Audrey…" He choked. "I love you, I love you."

"I love you," she said, breaking down again. The nurse rushed out of the room to report the news. The couple didn't stop holding onto each other until the doctor pried them apart. Visiting hours were extended, just this once.

Neither Pink nor Audrey ever spoke about what had happened during the time he went on tour and the time she had found new love. A simple "I forgive you" was enough. They never asked for any more details. Audrey never knew how Pink had erupted when he found out that she was cheating on him. Pink never learned why she had done so. Neither one cared.

Audrey had to adjust to this new Pink. She could tell things were going to be different when he had woken up in tears. She had never seen him cry once, and certainly not like this. She didn't think she had ever really heard him tell her he loved her either. Yet the first words he spoke upon coming out of his sleep were "Audrey, I love you."

_All alone, or in twos, the ones who really love you walk up and down outside the wall._

Upon returning home, Pink felt the absence of a wall more strongly than ever. Unsure of what to do without it, he held a silent conference with himself, and finally decided on suicide. He wasn't ready to heal- in fact, he would have died had Audrey not awakened him with her tears. Yet as Pink poised the blade of the kitchen knife over his throat, the very woman that had saved his life swooped downstairs to save it again. At that moment, Pink realized that his life, while it may not be important to him, was certainly important to someone- namely, Audrey, the woman who had had her chance at freedom and gave it up to remain with an emotionally abusive husband because she loved him. Her devotion was startling. Keeping this in mind, Pink made an effort to recover from his mental trauma. And slowly but surely, it worked.

He quit the music business and left his entire life as a rock star behind him. He soon forgot he had ever been one. Sometimes out in public, a radio would blare his song- 'Another Brick In The Wall', or 'In The Flesh'- and he would look down and pretend not to recognize it. Without Audrey, he didn't think he would have gotten through that time. She held his hand and urged him through the pain, urged him to tell her about it. It felt awkward at first, but finally he got used to communicating with her, and found it far easier than it had ever been before.

He would no longer answer to Pink, something that Audrey had a hard time accepting. After slipping up a few times, she got the hang of referring to him as Floyd. Floyd himself enjoyed it greatly.

_Some hand in hand, and some gathered together in bands._

_The bleeding hearts and artists make their stand._

They renewed the wedding vows, and this time the celebration was more joyous. Audrey felt her mother looking down on her, telling her that this time she had done it right. Floyd's own mother did come, and this time she never once called him Babe. "I must say, Floyd, you married a wonderful woman," she said, glancing over at Audrey, who smiled. "You must not be in your right mind if you ever considered throwing this away!"

"Thanks, Mother," Floyd said, smiling and kissing her cheek.

This time, the honeymoon was real and full of passion. Now that the couple were able to make it in bed, Audrey felt satisfied. In a few short months the Pinkertons were blessed with their first child. When she was born, Floyd held her in his arms and marveled at how life circled back around. She would grow up to be perfect, he was sure of it.

In bed, they explored each other's bodies nearly every night, usually interrupted by the baby crying. Audrey sighed. "Isn't this where we came in?"

"Your turn to get her this time," Floyd said.

"Liar." She laughed and gave him a final kiss. "Try not to miss me too much, okay?"

"Okay." He waited eagerly, a smile stretched across both cheeks. When she returned, he caught her and pulled her back into his arms. "Where were we?"

"You tell me," she said, snuggling close. They fell asleep holding each other.

_And when they've given you their all, some stagger and fall-_

_After all, it's not easy banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall._


End file.
